Castle Fanfic - FLUFF - Kintsugi
by CharacterDriven
Summary: Based on Lousie McDoogle's prompt - post- "Resurrection" family ice cream binge. MilMar and ABC own the characters and all the real stuff. I just add a few words here and there in homage.
1. Chapter 1

Lousie McDougall's Prompt:  
Basically the prompt is Alexis and Martha arriving home and the whole family the following day watching movies and eating ice cream

Note: IMHO this goes beyond fluff to actual glurge, but I'm pretty wrung out from "Reckoning" and "Resurrection".

•••  
**_Kintsugi_**

Kate pressed her forehead against Rick's solar plexus, her hair hanging in her face. His arms around her, but not too tightly, he took careful steps back, gently dancing her away from Nieman's corpse. She'd started out in something like shock, but when they came out of the makeshift operating room, she started to tremble violently. She'd gotten bloody handprints all over his jacket, and he didn't care, but she did. They could both smell its metallic tang.

Ryan was standing by, radioing for a coroner's van. He said "Beckett, there's an ambulance on the way, just hang tight."

She nodded, "Thanks," holding back a sob. Castle found a chair in the vestibule and guided her into it, then knelt before her, and they exchanged stricken gazes. Then, wordless, she doubled over again, just her forehead against his shoulder, her hands held out to the side, refusing to sully him further. He stroked her hair, whispering only "We're still here. They're gone, and we're still here."

"They'll never be gone."

He chose not to argue that point, instead letting the relief and love wash over him, willing it to radiate out to her, from his mind and heart, through her skin, into her soul. That beautiful, cracked vessel, so carefully mended.

"Have you ever been to Japan?" he murmured.

"No." She sat up, intrigued and oddly annoyed.

"_That's progress_." he thought. "In Japan, when a special ceramic piece is damaged or broken, they have a repair technique called 'kintsugi'."

_"Oh, great. Here comes the metaphor..."_ She rolled her eyes. "And why are you telling me this now?"

"The artist fills the cracks with gold, I think it's powdered gold, sometimes platinum, mixed with lacquer. The vessel ends up more beautiful than it was before, with shining lines that mark its history."

The corner of her lips twitched, just the beginning of amusement.

He'd been watching for that twitch, hoping._ "Amusement. Now there's a question: Does the artist need the muse, or does the muse also need the artist? Would the muse die without someone to express what's necessary? Maybe not. But maybe her wings would wither away, and she would be forever grounded, dark and bitter." _ He filed that thought away for later … musing.

"So you're saying I'm more beautiful now because I'm a crackpot?"

"No," said Castle. "I'm saying that when this is all over, we should fly to Japan. For sushi. Maybe go visit those monkeys in the north who like to sit up to their ears in hot water."

She chuckled down at him, shaking her head. "I could definitely use a hot bath."

"With a monkey?"

"With my favorite monkey." He found it encouraging that she was trying to joke, but it was obviously an effort. She still seemed dazed, almost otherworldly. He guessed what was replaying in the back of her mind, and his heart bled for her.

Ryan had gone to the sink and come back with a couple of towels, one dampened with hot water, and one dry. Castle wiped Kate's hands tenderly then dried them, and set both towels aside in case they were needed for evidence purposes later. Doubtless the whole fight between the two women was on camera. The police would barely need a statement from Kate. She did have some cuts on her hand, and surprisingly the area around her left index and thumbnail was a shredded mess. In response to his questioning look, she said,

"I loosened the bolt holding the strap in place."

He nodded, understanding. "So that's how you got away?"

She took a deep breath. "I didn't exactly get away, now, did I."

He took off his bloody shirt and set it with the towels. Esposito came and wrapped a blanket around Kate's shoulders. He glanced at Castle. "Just got a call from unis, they popped your trunk and got Amy out. She's in custody."

Castle nodded. "She's lucky I didn't take the Ferrari." He handed Esposito the Buick's spare key. "Can you get it back to the City for me?"

Espo nodded and winked. "I think Ryan can make it back without me."

"Do not mess with my stereo presets. I will know."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Which is why Esposito rode home with Taylor Swift and Megan Trainor blasting on the sound system, and got caught dancing to "All About That Bass" in the locker room when he thought nobody was looking, three days later. When Ryan laughed at him, he just shrugged and grinned, "Haters gonna hate."

•••

Castle rode with Kate in the ambulance to the hospital, held her hand during most of the doctor's exam, even went into the bathroom with her for a pee test. She didn't even protest. Neither of them wanted to be out of the other's sight, voice, touch.

She wasn't sore, but they'd thought it best to use a rape and tox kit, because she'd been drugged, and nobody knew what Tyson and Nieman had done to her. Sexual assault wasn't part of Tyson's MO, but Nieman had had sexual liaisons with at least one of her victims, and there was no real knowing what she had been capable of.

After a clean bill of health, at least as far as culture turnaround time could permit, Beckett dressed in the clean change of clothes they had brought along for her, and they went down to the 12th precinct, where they got the news about Castle's 1000 hours of community service, and Kate really smiled for the first time.

•••

When Alexis and Martha got back from the airport (and a pit stop on the way home) they peeked in to find Castle and Beckett already in bed, most likely asleep or at least faking it very well.

Martha turned to her granddaughter. "They won't mind."

"Gran, no. Let's give them..."

"Nonsense! Now is no time to wallow, and..."

Castle opened one eye and glared at them. "Was this strictly necessary?"

Kate opened both eyes and stretched, smiling. "Welcome back, you two."

She sat up, swung out of bed, and padded over to her girls, arms open. Castle sat up then, with a little sigh, glad they hadn't been severely startled. "I guess we're awake, then." But he smiled, watching the group hug, all three women clenched tight in a circle.

"Good thing. We brought ice cream."

He slithered past them, heading for the kitchen. "I hope you got Mexican Chocolate."

Kate's head popped up. "Dark chocolate orange?"

Alexis nodded. "And strawberry sorbet."

Castle was already in the kitchen, making coffee. It was 3:10 a.m.

"Alexis," he said. "You're off school tomorrow anyway."

"Yeah, I was suppose to be holed up in Provence but we decided to come home early."

"Then it's pajama party time, and you are not suitably attired," Rick indicated her street clothes.

"Oh, Daddy Dearest, I am chastened," Alexis bowed in mock contrition. "I'll just..." she ran upstairs to her room to change.

Kate went to the video cabinet. "Hmm." She looked over their collection. "I think I want something really …"

"Go for stupid."

"Yeah. Marx Brothers?"

Rick mimed hitting himself in the forehead with an ice cream scoop. "We want stupid, not witty."

"How about 3 Guys, Two Girls, and a Piano Bar?"

"You really want a marathon?"

"Yeah. I like that guy with the … you know, the one who dances funny."

Castle grinned. "The hot one?" He was setting out the ice cream flavors and toppings.

Kate bent and popped a disc into the player. "He's not as hot as you."

"Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill," said Castle. He took the top off the hot fudge jar, put it in the microwave, and shut the door with a snap of his perfect butt.

"I don't know how age and treachery and youth and skill have all managed to find a perfect home in your skin at the same time, Castle. It's something of a miracle."

"It's because I'm a middle-aged dilettante. I contain multitudes."

Kate fiddled with the remote. "God, all these damn buttons," she hissed.

"You want a hand with that?"

The microwave beeped. Kate swore, inordinately. "Ow." The DVD slot opened and closed like a cuckoo clock.

Rick rushed to her. "What is it?"

She was squeezing her left thumb in her right hand and blinked back apologetic tears. "Opened up my cut," she sighed.

"Thank God," he said gently. "I though my remote might have turned deadly." He took her into the kitchen and found the first aid box in the second drawer down, next to the marshmallow skewers. He pulled them out too, and the pocket blowtorch.

She stared into the half-empty drawer, which also contained onion goggles, a ball of twine, and a harmonica. "I always forget to ask: why do you keep a first aid kit with the skewers and blowtorch?"

He cleaned off her cut with an antiseptic wipe. "You mean 'why do _we_...'

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. _We_." Normally she was perfectly capable of bandaging herself, but it just felt nice, aside from the sting of course.

He wrapped her thumb gently with the bandage. It had cartoon pirate skulls on it. "Not too tight, don't want it to turn blue and fall off..." He grinned at her. "I guess you've never seen me make Blowtorch S'Mores."

"Not that I remember."

"Oh, trust me, you'll remember it..." He reached up into the cupboard for the marshmallows. "We might be out of graham crackers." He was still rummaging. "Would you settle for Blowtorch Baked Alaska?"

She put a hand on his arm. "Castle."

He turned and looked down at her. "Beckett."

"Rick."

"Kate?"

"You're fussing."

"I'm fussing?"

"Yes. You're... I'm not your little girl." She spoke gently, tenderly, with no criticism in her warm voice. She gestured at the spread on the kitchen island, the ice cream already going a little soft. She reached into the microwave and produced the hot fudge. "I'm a grownup, Castle. You don't have to take such care of me."

His voice cracked slightly. "I know you're a grownup. This isn't just for you."

She would have teased him had there not been tears in his eyes. He blinked them back and went on. "You have to share now, Kate. _Everything_. The, the hot fudge and the ice cream, nuts and sprinkles and going away and coming back and being here." He gestured to his mother's door, still closed. "With us. With Mother, and Alexis, it's all of us, Kate."

She nodded, close to understanding. "When my mom died, the neighbors brought casseroles." She set down the fudge and put her arms around his waist, their bellies pressed warm together. "One lady brought this deathly green jello salad, molded into a circle."

"Did it have peas in it?"

"How did you know?"

"I think the Lime Jello Salad Of Death just travels from funeral to funeral, like the Flying Dutchman." His warm breath was in her ear. "It's a symbol of our isolation from our fellow man and longing for acceptance despite all our flaws."

"That's deep."

"After 3 a.m., this is pretty much standard train of thought for me."

"So. Jello for funerals, ice cream for celebrations."

"Yes, we can always tell ourselves 'At least the Dear Departed didn't have to eat the Jello Salad. They're in a better place'." But it's not about the food, it's just..." he backed away from her a little, wanting to see her face.

She gave him a little smile. "We're here. We're celebrating."

He nodded silently.

She picked up the can of whipped cream and squirted a dollop into her own mouth. "Okay, then."

He pouted. "What about me? Do I have to get my own?"

Her mouth still full, she laughed and kissed him, fluffy deliciousness passing between not just their mouths, but their hearts.* "Sometimes you have to let me take care of you."

He hummed into her mouth. "Sweet."

* * *

Martha, (who really did have amazing timing), sashayed out of her room. "Oh, did I hear a knock?" Neither Rick nor Kate had noticed, but when Martha opened the front door, Jim Beckett was standing there in a hat, heavy overcoat, muffler and gloves and galoshes.

He stepped in and Kate ran to him, throwing herself into his arms for a hug. All he said was, "Oh, Katie-bug." He pulled away and examined her face. "You all right?"

Kate nodded. Of course she'd called him once her ordeal was over, but she hadn't felt much like talking. "Yeah, Dad, I'm fine. We were just about to..." She stopped, puzzled. "It's almost 3:30 a.m." He looked exhausted, and she was struck with a pang: he was her dad, and he'd dealt with three kidnappings in the family over the course of 18 months. He'd aged, just since the wedding.

"Martha called me," he smiled. He doffed his hat and muffler, and Kate set them aside, then helped him with his coat. Underneath he wore a warm robe and flannel pajamas, and under his galoshes were the slippers she'd given him for Christmas. "Apparently we're having a pajama party?"

* * *

Soon they were all gathered around the kitchen island, ready to assemble their sundaes. Kate was sipping her latte when Rick reached up into a high cupboard and grabbed a special bowl, handing it down to her. It was a lovely little bowl, celadon green inside with a darker green salt-fired glaze outside. It had been dropped and repaired, with veins of gold highlighting the cracked areas.

The other three had collected their coffee drinks and ice cream, and were watching the obligatory previews on the DVD, leaving Castle and Beckett alone by the kitchen island.

"Kintsugi?" she murmured. He nodded. She held it carefully between her two hands, and he scooped her ice cream for her.

His voice a low rumble that only she could hear, he described what he was seeing. "Slim, strong hands. Wedding ring on one finger, a bandage on your thumb. Red sorbet, brown chocolate ice cream, white whipped cream. Green bowl, streaks of gold showing where it all came apart."

She said softly, "Where it all comes together."

He nodded. "Where it all comes together."

Martha said, "Come on, you two. We don't have all night. All right, we _do_ have all night. Anyway, it's starting."

Rick's eyes were bright on Kate's. "So it is."  
•••

* * *

*(if I ever write anything that corny again, please either shoot me or grind me up and fry me into a tortilla chip)


	2. Chapter 2 - Conclusion

Castle Fanfic:

Kintsuge End Piece

(thank you, Madelynn, for the encouragement!)

Alexis had scooted extra seating in around the TV. Jim chose a recliner (who knew? It didn't look like a recliner... really the contraption was a sort of magical unfolding, self-propagating Hide-a-Bed of Bliss). He was a morning person. The kind who awakens bright-eyed at 5:59 a.m., a minute before his alarm goes off, and falls asleep at 11:23 p.m. - unless he's working on a legal brief or worried about his daughter. He'd been up too late, riding on the adrenaline of his baby girl's kidnapping. Despite calling his sponsor, and doing the prayer and meditation suggested by his 12-step program, his mind kept going down the dark path of loss that had devastated him at Johanna's death. "Breathe in love, breathe out fear, let go, let go, let go, God grant me the serenity to let it go..." Even though Kate was back and apparently on the road to recovery, he had not been able to sleep, so he was exhausted and bleary when he took Martha's call. He found himself laughing on the phone with her. How could that be, laughing at 2:30 a.m., with this odd, noisy, flighty woman? She talked him into just showing up in his pajamas, gave him the code for the underground parking garage shared by the adjoining buildings, arranged a space for him with the doorman, and he really did it. Pajamas, slippers, and all.

He took a few bites of raspberry sorbet and a sip of coffee, catching covert glances over at the sofa where his fragile-looking daughter nestled into her husband's shoulder. Rick sat at the center of his family, with Kate at one side and Alexis on the other. Martha sat next to Alexis. She'd put a half-shot of brandy into her hot chocolate. It had slowed her down a tad, but watching the show, she made the occasional quip. She had dated one of the extras – who played a grizzled, homeless barfly. She said, "I've never watched this show, but I remember he had a great voice. I hope they get him to sing." Halfway into the second act, the man was belting out "Never Gonna Give You Up." He sounded like Elvis drunk on Nyquil. It was awful and brilliant.

Jim wasn't really interested in the marathon (were any of them really interested?) but he was happy to just sit there in the cozy room, watching the dim blue light playing over Kate's face as she took a few bites of ice cream then grew increasingly drowsy. He hadn't asked what happened. He figured Katie – or maybe Rick – maybe both – would tell him when the time was right. He was asleep before the end of the first episode.

There is probably an algebraic theorem: if a young woman cries for eight hours heading east on an airplane, and for two hours at a hotel in London, and then for ten hours heading west against a headwind in February, how raw will her throat feel from swallowing her own tears? I don't know, but when she snores, it's pitiful and adorable at the same time. She fell asleep with her head on Martha's shoulder. Rick smiled over at them and tucked a blanket up around his little girl's shoulders. Martha patted his hand.

Kate was next to go under, halfway through the third episode, just after the guy's wallet falls into the pond. Lulled by her gentle breathing, Rick made it as far as the fistfight at the ice rink. He fell asleep, into a dream about beating the crap out of Jerry Tyson, and awoke with a start.

Martha murmured, "You're okay, Kiddo."

He nodded. "Yeah." Kate hadn't even twitched. He closed his eyes, pulled her a little closer, and drifted out again.

Martha waited until his breathing was soft and regular, then gently moved out from under Alexis, who slumped down to lay her head on the sofa arm.

Squinting at the tiny remote buttons, Martha switched from video to a slide show of family photos Alexis had made for Rick's birthday a few years before, and added in an audio track of sonatas and chamber music. Quiet, but not too quiet.

Moving with silent care, Martha collected all the bowls and cups, placing them in the dishwasher with barely a clink. Then she leaned on the kitchen island, turned down the lights and quietly cried, keeping vigil over her son and his wife, over their family, praying for healing after all they've endured. She remained awake until the sky outside grew barely light, and she could see it threatened snow.

She turned up the fireplace to a gentle flame. No matter how cold it got outside... today, they would be warm.


End file.
